Doctor's Orders
by LJC
Summary: Set after "Paradigm Shift". When the crew quarters on deck 5 are damaged in a Tholian attack, Pike and Number One have to make do with alternate sleeping arrangements.


_Disclaimer: _Star Trek_ and all related elements, characters and indicia © CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved. All characters and situations—save those created by the authors for use solely on this website—are copyright CBS Studios Inc.._

**Please do not archive or distribute without author's permission.**

Author's Note: Written for The Pike/Number One Bingo prompt "living arrangements: captain & xo share a bathroom". Thanks to my betas!

**Doctor's Orders**  
by LJC

"The good news is, long-range sensors have confirmed that the two Tholian ships we destroyed were the only ones in this sector," Number One read off the PADD resting on the biobed as she pulled a fresh uniform tunic on over her black undershirt.

"And the bad news?" Pike asked, his ears still ringing from the exploding console which had thrown him halfway across the bridge.

"The bad news is, we've taken major damage, including a hull breach of deck five. Minor casualties, but the crew quarters in the damaged sections won't have life support restored for two days minimum, according to Barry's engineering crews."

"I guess we'll just have to find temporary digs," Pike said, wiping grime and sweat from his forehead with his uninjured hand while Boyce ran a dermal regenerator over the burns on his other hand and wrist.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Boyce asked as Number One pulled on her boots and hopped off the bed.

"My injuries were minor. I want to inspect the damage."

Boyce shook his head firmly. "Let Barry's crews handle that. When was the last time you ate or slept?"

"Doctor, I don't require—"

Phil's scowl was fearsome, but seemed to have little or no effect on his exec. "Let me be the judge of that for once, will you?"

Number One gave a nearly imperceptible shrug of her shoulders. "My quarters were on Deck 5."

Boyce, however, was prepared for this. "Colt's moved what the crews were able to salvage from both of your quarters to the guest suites on Deck Two."

Pike's head snapped up. "Those rooms are reserved for admirals, ambassadors, Heads of State—Phil, that's where the President would stay, if she were on the _Enterprise_."

"Consider yourselves promoted," Boyce said gruffly. "Now—unless you want to be declared unfit for duty by your CMO, I suggest both of you take advantage of your unexpected good fortune not to have to bunk down on 22 with the enlisted personnel."

"Doctor's orders?" Pike asked, and Phil retaliated by pressing a hypospray full of analgesics a little more firmly into his neck than was strictly necessary.

* * *

Pike took one look at the luxurious guest suite and shook his head in disbelief. "This is ridiculous."

Starships were as a rule designed to make the best use of small space. Storage space was built into nearly every available bulkhead, with tables that retracted and folded into walls, room dividers that doubled as display screens, and furniture that neatly stowed away when not in use.

Like Number One, Pike eschewed a suite of rooms, instead choosing a simple single-being accommodation on deck 5. It had suited him just fine, despite the occasionally cramped quarters when he hosted a senior staff poker game, or informal dinners with Number One, Boyce, and Barry.

In stark contrast to his quarters, the _Enterprise_ guest quarters seemed to go on forever. Three of the standard crew quarters could have easily fitted inside it, with room to spare. The higher ceilings sloped toward the wall of curved windows which showed the stars streaking past as the _Enterprise_ travelled at warp. Low couches deep enough to double as beds were placed in front of them, along with a coffee table and easy chairs that looked as if they could be configured for a variety of Federation member races, to create an informal lounge.

Live plants from the hydroponics bay sat in curved pots bolted to the floor on either side, and a dining area that could easily sit twelve humanoids was directly to the left of it. A large viewscreen, almost the size of the forward screen on the bridge dominated one wall, with low shelves of real bound books beneath it. There were even real paintings on the walls—two of pastoral scenes Pike recognised as Earth and Andor, and one of Shi'Kahr on Vulcan. Recessed lights created pools of light over the various areas, and from the open entryway to the sleeping quarters Pike could see a gigantic bed with crisp linens, plump pillows, and a richly patterned coverlet that looked a hundred times more inviting than his own narrow bunk.

Even the carpets were richer than the standard needlefelt flooring Pike had grown used to in his years in Starfleet, with thick pile than showed the marks of their footsteps before springing back into place. The rooms had been unoccupied for months, but the air was fresh and lightly scented from the cut flowers in a vase in the centre of the dining table.

Pike whistled lowly as he walked over to the wet bar in the dining area and saw all of the bottles were stocked, although he was chagrined to admit he'd been expecting to see at least a small bottle of distinctive blue Romulan Ale. However many bottles he and Phil had shared over the years, it was technically illegal to import in Federation space, so he shouldn't have been all that surprised at its lack. But what it lacked in variety it more than made up for in volume. There were Terran champagnes, Vulcan wines, Tellarite liqueurs, and Andorian brandies. The food slots were programmed for fresh meals from the kitchens in addition to the standard synthesised meals from proteins and carbohydrate bases stored in the mess pattern buffers.

"Haven't you ever been in one of these before?" Number One asked, amusement tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Not since the refit last year. I had no idea they were so..."

"Extravagant? Luxurious? A criminal waste of space and resources?"

"Big," was all he could say, and she gave a rueful smile.

"I was the one who had to give the Vulcan Ambassador to Andor the tour last month, because a certain captain who shall remain nameless claimed diplomats gave him hives."

Pike shrugged, giving her a wide grin. "For the sake of interstellar peace, I always figure it's best if I don't threaten to space people who annoy me. Diplomats annoy me. And spacing Vulcans is a sure-fire way to start an interstellar incident."

Number One arched a brow. "What about Lt Spock?"

"I choose to believe the part where he's half human means he only gives me half the headaches."

"Speciesist!" Number One teased him, in that tone which anyone else might have mistaken for scorn. But he knew better. "In any case, I believe his comment was 'I find this excessive in the extreme.' However, I was led to believe by the Ambassador's attaché that he found the accommodations quite satisfactory by the end of his stay."

"I'll say. This is palatial, compared with the usual diplomatic quarters. What is your room like?"

"Only half the size of this one, with a connecting door. It's meant for aides, attaches, valets, consorts... in short, dogsbodys."

Pike slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "Does this mean I can genuinely claim you're my consort?"

"Not if you would like to retain the use of your thumbs," she said, her face gravely serious. But her ice-blue eyes danced beneath her delicately arched brows.

"Noted." He kissed her quickly, as if someone might be watching. Just a peck on the mouth, but there was something illicit about it in his mind—doing this, here, outside of his or her quarters with the doors sealed with an authorisation code.

In the centre of the lounge area, two lone packing crates sat, dwarfed by their environment. Pike opened one, and began looking through it.

He had few personal possessions on _Enterprise_—the bulk of his belongings were still in storage in the ranch house in Mojave. Aside from his books and his off-duty wardrobe, his room had little to mark it as his. A few holos of family. An old-fashioned still photo from a shore leave spent with Number One and Cait at Phil's house in the Cape, with the four of them in mufti, bundled against the cold. It was special to him, but anyone who viewed it would assume it was merely four close friends from the service. He and Number One had taken great pains to keep their relationship a secret for the sake of their careers, and sometimes that wore on him more than he admitted. There were nights where he longed to do simple things like hold her hand in public, or go on leave without beaming down to separate locations and meeting up planetside.

He dug through the stacked books, data solids, and items of clothing until his fingers closed around the familiar shape of the photo frame. It wasn't as if they couldn't have taken another photo next time they were on leave. But that week in New England had been the first time he and Number One had taken leave together, and the photo meant a great deal to him.

"Were they able to salvage your books?" Number One asked as she sat down on the chair opposite him.

"Some of them," he said with a sigh as he flipped through the stack of hardbound books. He was missing a few books on military tactics, slim volumes of poetry, _Teachings of Surak_, as well as the second volume of Archer's memoirs. But miraculously, his vintage 22nd century Louis L'Amour omnibus had survived.

"I'm sorry—I know how much they meant to you."

Pike shrugged. "They're just things."

"Rare and wonderful things."

"But replaceable," he admitted, touched by her concern. He used to rib her about her lack of sentimentality, but in the time they'd been together, he'd found himself embracing her idea of travelling lightly. As this was the second time in three years Deck 5 had suffered damage during a mission, he was surprised at how calm he was this time, versus the last time he'd had to take stack of his meagre belongings.

"I bet you're glad now that you don't keep mementoes."

Number One flinched. "I did have Cait's favourite shoes. She's going to be angry if they got spaced."

"I'll buy her new shoes."

"I'm the one who didn't give them back to her after we went dancing on Risa," she said with a slight shrug.

Pike remembered that night. And those shoes. He definitely owed Cait new footwear, given how that evening had played out.

Setting the photo on the coffee table, he closed the carton. There would be plenty of time later to sort through it and see what had survived the Tholian ambush. In the meantime, he planned to take advantage of their busman's holiday.

"I still smell like smoke." Pike moved to the fresher unit at one end of the cavernous suite, and ran hot water into the basin and gentle soap. He briskly scrubbed his face and hands, then patted them dry with a soft cotton towel embroidered with the UFP seal. Stepping toward where he assumed the shower was located, the automated door slid open.

Pike whistled lowly, not entirely sure he trusted his eyes.

"M'hari—c'mere."

"What is it?" she asked as she crossed the room, and he stepped aside so she could get the full effect.

"Sweet Maker," she swore, her voice was low and breathy, the way it almost never, ever was unless they were alone. It sent a shiver down his spine, and his mind was already dancing with visions of all the ways in the next four hours he could make her say that again, in exactly that tone of voice.

The bathroom was nearly the size of Pike's quarters. A sunk-in tub large enough for two members of nearly any Federation member race to luxuriate in dominated the room. A standing water shower occupied the other half, large enough for half a Terran baseball team. It was an engineering marvel. Water jets were evenly spaced around both, to effectively clean nearly any size or shape. The tile floor was heated, and fluffy towels bearing the Starfleet delta hung on pegs at varying heights within reach of both the tub and the shower doors.

"Cait would call this a _religious experience_ of a bathroom," Number One pronounced after a moment.

"She's not wrong." Pike peered at the tub, and looked back at her with a grin. "And you know what the best part is?"

"Enterprise has a 99.99% efficient water reclamation system?"

"No... adjoining suites means for the first time in _three years_ aboard my own ship neither one of us has to slink back to our own quarters in the dead of night to avoid becoming scuttlebutt."

Number One raised a brow. "Should I send the Tholians a gift basket?"

"If it weren't for the injured crewmembers in Sickbay, I'd have the quartermaster send them a case of Earth's finest champagne."

"Tholians don't drink champagne."

"You are vastly over-thinking my response."

Pike punched a few buttons, and steaming hot water began filling the deep marble tub. Running his hand under the tap, he adjusted the temperature and stripped off his command tunic, letting it fall to the floor.

"You're going to take a bath _right now_?"

"_We_ are going to take a bath," he said, slipping his arms around her waist and sliding his hands under her tunic to roam her lower back. The new skin on his palms still lacked full sensitivity, but there was no mistaking the way her skin prickled with gooseflesh despite the steamy warmth of the room.

"Is that an order, Captain?" She straddled his hips as he sat on the edge of the tub; he began to draw her gold tunic up, baring inch after inch of pale flesh.

"Mmmmmm," he hummed against her neck, nose teasing a spot behind her ear. "Would you comply, Commander?"

"Well, so long as it's a lawful order from my commanding officer, I would have to obey, or risk a court martial."

"God, you're sexy when you quote Starfleet regs."

"You have an authority fetish."

"You have too many clothes on."

She pulled back from his mouth just far enough to cross her arms and grasp the hem of her tunic and pull it over her head. He took it from her fingers and let it sail across the room to land atop his.

"Do you think Phil had any idea, when he sent us up here, that the first thing you would do would be run a bath?" she asked as she tossed her dark hair back from her face, her nose wrinkling at the stink of smoke.

"I think Phil has known both of us long enough to know _exactly_ what I'd do."

She laughed as he reached up to undo the clasp of her Starfleet issue bra, cupping one breast in his uninjured hand. Her chuckle became a gasp as he took her nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiffening peak. She moaned as he flicked her nipple with his tongue playfully before sucking on the puckered brown nub. She dug her nails into his shoulders in response, knees buckling so her entire weight was balanced on his thighs.

"And what do you intend to do, _exactly_?"

Pike smiled against her skin, and would have gloated just a little had he not looked up to see her pupils blown and rimmed with only a halo of ice-blue, lips parted, and a flush creeping up her cheeks. The sight of his normally cool and efficient Exec so aroused from something as simple as his mouth on her never failed to send a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

"Filthy, filthy things until we're both very, very clean," he whispered against her mouth.

When she rolled her hips against his, he reached over to shut off the taps, his arm locked around her waist keeping both of them from tumbling half-dressed into the tub. This had the added advantage of pulling her flush against him, and she breathed in sharply through her nose as he ground himself against her.

Her black hair, dishevelled from the battle and already falling out of its customary chignon was beginning to curl from the steam rising from the water. She began pulling the remaining pins from the complicated style as he pushed her uniform trousers down her long, shapely legs while simultaneously toe-ing off his own boots.

At last the heavy fall of glossy black waves fell around her neck and shoulders and they were both naked. He moved to step into the tub, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"I remember something _else_ from our last visit to Risa," she said, sliding her fingertips along his length before flicking her thumb over the head. His cock jerked in her light grasp, rising from half-mast to full attention. "Something about hot water, core temperature, and blood pressure."

"Good point, Number One." Pike flushed, though the memory was hardly unpleasant as he recalled more than making up for it with fingers, tongue, and at one point, the detachable shower head in the hotel suite's walk-in shower. "Tell me, do you have a recommended course of action?"

"I believe I might, sir." She placed her hands on his shoulders, using gentle pressure until he was once again seated on the side of the tub. Grabbing a towel from the nearest heated rack, she laid it still folded on the warm tiles, and knelt in front of him. Pike watched, mesmerised by her graceful, precise movements as she slid her hands from the back of his ankles to knees, positioning him to her satisfaction. Running her nails lightly along the tops of his thighs while her thumbs caressed the insides of his thighs, she spread his legs until she could kneel comfortably between them.

He nearly fell backwards into the tub as she licked the underside of his cock from base to head, her blue eyes still fixed on his. He gripped the marble almost painfully as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, pumping him with one slim-fingered hand while she took the head in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she swirled her tongue around it. With her other hand, she continued to play with his balls, the warmth of her fingers in sharp contrast with the cool marble of the tub.

He groaned, uncurling the fingers of his right hand from the death-grip he had on the tub and reached for her. He stroked her dark hair back from her forehead, letting his fingers rest on her head rather than guiding her movements. His breathing grew ragged as she hummed low in her throat, her mouth still wrapped around him. He tried to keep from thrusting into the hot, wet heat of her mouth, but it took all of his will power.

"M'hari..." he warned her as he could feel himself getting close. He expected her to pull back, but instead she quickened her movements, hands tightening on his thighs.

"Oh God," he moaned, unable to hold back any longer. He lifted his hips, and she took him as deep into her throat as she could. A few erratic thrusts was all he could manage before he came with a cry that echoed in the cavernous marble bath, the blood thrumming in his veins as she swallowed around him.

"That was not exactly what I had in mind," he admitted as she let him slip from between her lips and crawled up his body, breasts pressed against his chest as she wound her arms around his neck.

"You're welcome," she said with a throaty chuckle.

"Oh, I haven't thanked you yet," he promised her. Blue eyes dancing with mischief, he slid his hands down to grip her ass as she rode his thigh, back arched.

"Let's clean up first. Then you can thank me all you like."

Balancing with one hand on his shoulder, she stepped into the tub, hissing as the hot water hit her calves, then knees, and finally stopping just before the shadow of jet black curls at the apex of her thighs. With a sly smile still tugging at the corner of her mouth, she sank into the water, tipping her head back so her hair streamed down her back. Wiping water from her eyes, she floated, arms outstretched along the cool marble.

"This was your idea—aren't you going to join me?" she said as he just sat there, transfixed by the sight of her. Her firm breasts bobbed in the water, and he wanted to trace the path of one droplet of water as it made its leisurely way from her temple to rest in the hollow of her throat.

Pike climbed into the tub beside her, and then manoeuvred them so he was at her back and she floated in his lap, her body touching his lightly as the hot water swirled around them. Turning back to the control panel, he chose the olive-oil soap scented with citrus he knew she preferred and began soaping her shoulders and neck. She sighed as he massaged her always-tight shoulders, and her sighs turned to moans as he reached around to soap her breasts.

While he carefully and thoroughly worked the soap into her skin, she gave breathy little sighs, pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips; rising core temperature or not, he began stirring again against his thigh.

They took their time washing away the stink of smoke and charred circuitry from their skin and hair, caressing one another under the guise of washing until they were both flushed, and not only from the steaming hot water.

"This is nice," Number One finally admitted as he rinsed the last of the soap from her hair, and she leaned back against his chest, head resting on his shoulder.

"When was the last time you had a long, hot bath?" he murmured in her ear as he pinched her nipples between soap-slicked fingers.

Her brows drew together as she had to actually think about it. "We used the showers on Risa. And Starbase 18 didn't have sit-down baths. It had to have been the Cape, two years ago, while Phil and Cait made dinner."

"Next time we're on leave—I don't care where we are, we get a suite like this." His hands traced the curves of her ribs until he gripped her hips, and pulled her tighter against him. "And we stay in the tub until our fingers get all wrinkly. And I don't care if the Romulans declare war while we're in there."

"Liar," she said with a chuckle, half twisting against him so she could nip at his jawline.

Still pressed against her back, he rolled her beneath him, water sloshing over the sides of the tub with his sudden movement. She braced herself on her arms on the wall of the enclosure, but he carefully lowered her hands until they rested on the curved back of the tub below two polished metal handles designed to aid beings of different heights to climb easily in and out of the tub.

"What—" she said, questioning.

"You'll see," he promised. Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, he reached up and pressed two buttons on the console.

Number One pushed back against him as the jets began churning the water, foam from the small amount of soap they'd used beginning to gather in the swirls. He had positioned her directly in front of one of the powerful jets, and her cry of surprise quickly turned to pleasure as the stream of water and air hit her. She reached up and grasped the handles as he slid his hands around her ribcage to cup her breasts.

He loved her breasts. Neither small nor overly large, they fit in his hands perfectly, and he massaged them with firm pressure before rolling her stiff brown nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. She arched her back involuntarily, pressing her firm, round buttocks back into him, and despite the heat of the water he felt himself firming and swelling at the contact. He crowded her against the side of the tub, grinning wickedly as her hips began rocking back against his.

"Ch-Chris—" His name came out a stutter as she gulped in air, her hands tightening on the handles.

Releasing one of her breasts, he slipped one hand beneath the churning water to play with her folds, opening her wider. The vibration from the jets took her higher and higher, until her keening cries of pleasure were almost sobs. Her hips jerked back against him in a staccato rhythm as she came and he bit her shoulder lightly, riding out the spasms.

He shut off the whirlpool jets, and ducked under the water to come up between her arms. He kissed her as he prised her fingers off the hand-grips. As they lay in the cooling water, iridescent soap bubbles popped around them with a crackling noise.

"You could have warned me," she said with a chuckle as she rested her cheek against his shoulder, her dark hair swirling around them.

"That would have spoiled some of my fun," he admitted, and she pinched his nipple in retaliation. He caught her hand and they kissed lazily, her tongue sliding against his as she breathed in deeply through her nose. He kissed her as if they had all the time in the world, and for once, it felt as if they might.

"You're welcome," he murmured as they parted, her chin resting on his breastbone while the warm water lapped at them.

"We should get out of the tub before we drown," she suggested sleepily. "And I hear the President of the Federation herself would sleep in that continent you quaintly referred to as a 'bed' earlier, if she were on _Enterprise_."

"I'd have to arm wrestle her for it."

"You're all hat and no cattle," she teased him as she finally moved from the circle of his arms and rose from the bath. He smacked her bottom before she could wrap one of the obscenely large towels around her naked form, and chased after her to prove her wrong.


End file.
